


At Least it’s Not Eternity

by ElvenMaia



Series: Middle of Your Heart [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Angst, Gen, Justice, Poor Maedhros, Social Justice, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Visions, a bit of character study, as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24533296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenMaia/pseuds/ElvenMaia
Summary: A vision of Maedhros’ death comes upon Nerdanel as it had with all her other children, and yet little does she know he will be the last. A trial is held to officially condemn the Fëanoriannath to be restrained in the Halls of Mandos for an eternity. But Nerdanel will not standby and watch as doom descends upon her family; not this time. Part one in the series ‘Middle of Your Heart’!
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel, Nerdanel & Sons of Fëanor
Series: Middle of Your Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916875
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59





	1. Visions

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
> 
> Rated for mentions of violence and death.
> 
> Italics indicate thought, emphasis, flashback, or elvish.

**Part 1~ Visions**

Something was happening. Nerdanel could feel it.

Her heart clenched with the very thought of it and she instinctively gazed east; past the marble verandah and lush rose garden climbing about a vibrant and neatly cropped hedge lawn—past all of it—to the inaccessible land. The accursed land that held her children captive to their doom.

The figment spread in her chest. It worried her that here it was—beginning once again—so soon after the last two, and what it might mean for her boys.

Her eyes became vacant and she remembered that horrid flash. She resisted yet it pursued. She gasped and floundered in the black suffocating water and it robbed her of breath.

Three. That was the third kinslaying. Nerdanel found herself cursing those blasted jewels like a mantra. Like a lifeline.

But she knew the truth. It was not the fault of the Silmarils that drove her family to destruction; it was Fëanáro.

Fëanáro who swore her children into utter perdition. Fëanáro who left her to wander in these empty forsaken halls and guess what had become of her children; the backbone of her purpose. She lived for them, and he took them away.

Nerdanel’s love for him stirred ever so slightly in her heart, like the dust stirring in a once-abandoned cellar. She could not bring herself to forget the man she married; his lazy, charismatic smile and the fire that burned in his eyes; burned with purpose, zeal, destiny.

She could not bring herself to hate him. After all her suffering she could not deny that she still loved him.

But even he was gone. She had seen him then, fighting to his very last. Even when foes surrounded him, he did not quaver. A burst of pride had flared through her then, but it ached with a tinge of bittersweet.

It had been a dreary day when she had seen his last. A wind whipped restlessly through the air. A tingle began in her chest, then it spread out so abruptly in a flash of light that she was thrown back off her feet.

Thus the image overtook her and she could do naught but lay wide-eyed in her tended patch of roses.

Fire was all around. Beasts of fell nature slunk about in circles, wary, waiting to the moment to unleash and strike out at the fey creature that stood before them in a flaming red cloak akin to the glint in his eye as he laughed in their faces amidst his defeat.

Flashing figures; one, a hulking monstrosity wreathed in flame; the other, slight and limber and ceaselessly leaping about to avoid attack.

She knew immediately who it was. Fëanáro.

He was struck by the shadow of iron. Once, twice, three times.

Smoke hung heavily in their air so that she was choked. It was suffocating. This smoke wrenched her heart in a way the fires of Alqualondë had failed to do so.

Each blow to Fëanáro felt as if it were to herself.

Even then, his eyes gleamed. When his defenses were shattered and hope was for naught and blood pooled about him. Even then, he laughed in the face of his foes, eyes glinting, teeth red-stained and flashing. Again, he wielded his sword

And again, he was struck.

Everything went black.

His _fëa_ had been torn away from her. She stumbled when there was nothing to lean on; to hold on to while she floundered in the great black waves.

Everything had gone rancid and cold inside. Her chest felt scraped out and hollow like the chilly halls he left her subjected to without him there to wrap her in his arms or push his heavy cloak about her shoulders.

Her _fëa_ was lost; the tattered remnant of a charred banner fluttering in the wind.

Nerdanel had thought that to be the last of it.

He was gone; her children were gone, and she had nothing but the vacant halls of Formenos to torment her with regret. But it was not so. Her children yet remained.

She had seen, one by one, as they fell under the hammer-stroke of that accursed Oath.

Her three eldest had remained until a showering evening had left her collapsed in the damp fragrant grass.

Tyelkormo. He was gone too.

The morning after she had woken up weakened and trembling in her light satin dress clinging to her skin and hair plastered to her cheeks and stained with the mud.

The tension in her middle had hummed through her bones once again. She dreaded it with all her being.

Who was it next? Her bright-eyed, charming, serene Maitimo? (Though she had seen him after Thangorodrim and knew he was of this innocent nature no more.) Or was it kind, gentle Makalaurë with his polite little smiles and silver tongue?

Nerdanel dreaded the answer.

Yet it was not so. Instead of rattling in her frame; corroding her bones and conquering any coherent thought, this vision had seeped lightly through her. Like the pleasant shivers of _Anar’s_ golden touch after a chilly night.

Two identical faces she had seen. Her breath had caught in her throat for she thought they could have been the Ambarussar by some blessed, absurd miracle. Though it was not. These faces had not the vibrant red curls of her twins but sleek waterfalls of black satin and eyes as grey as the stormy sea.

Makalaurë held the children, rocking them softly and murmuring a song under his breath. Moonlight had seeped from a out-of-sight window and bathed the drab cobbles of the room in a soft light so similar to the years of the Trees in Formenos when all had been good and well.

Maitimo had entered then, disheveled and rough and calloused and scarred so that he looked weary and aged. Makalaurë lifted his head and they exchanged soft words. Nerdanel’s heart had melted at the scene and she dared not ponder why she was permitted to see it. Makalaurë had children. She wondered if the _nís_ yet lived, though it was unlikely for the sorrow in his eyes and hardness to his lips that blemished the natural softness of his being.

The image had faded slowly and she grasped to the vanishing edges of it, tearing off a few pieces for her keepsake in the deep wells of her memory. She had made a life-sized sculpture in the likeness of the vision she had seen and she ached to touch it.

And here Nerdanel was now, staring absently to the direction of the residence of her last two sons on _Arda_ , the chatter of the other elves in her company fading to nothing but white noise and her tea gone cold.

The tingle spread through her again, and she was vainly naive enough to hope it was another good vision, though it had been the only good one in a myriad of bad. _Much things seem so in the way of things,_ Nerdanel thought.

She knew she had to leave before she made a scene of herself.

“Nerdanel, is all well?” an _nís_ seated near her asked.

“I believe I shall take leave now,” she responded despondently, her eyes far away and voice absent.

Nerdanel never would call herself a sociable person. She had always kept to herself and her family had made a neat little circle around themselves.

She had always been the one to counter slurring whispers or glowers of judgement with the brightest, fakest smile she could muster.

These social calls to the few families that did not spurn her for her name were to keep herself here. She did not particularly enjoy the visits but she felt more... solid, almost more present and composite with her fleeing _fëa_ after them.

_Loneliness is death; if know one knows you are alive,_ _you aren’t._

A sudden pulse went through her chest so that bright stars flecked her vision.

Nerdanel blinked rapidly and set her dainty little teacup on its saucer with an overestimated clang.

Attention was drawn to her and she began to rise, swaying dangerously on her feet.

“Pardon me, I—“

Her vision blurred considerably as the pulses thrummed throughout her with an an unanticipated and unprecedented harshness and urgency.

Summoning as much grace as she could, Nerdanel set the cup and saucer on the table. The smeared world failed her and the articles tipped off the table and onto the marble tiles with a startling shatter.

Urgent voices swam around her—just out of reach— and she took another wavering step. Her strength fled and she collapsed just as a hand gripped her elbow. She was vaguely aware of arms lifting her before the rising dark swallowed her consciousness whole and the world faded away.

oOo

_The night was dark and nearly starless but for one bright pinnacle far off in the bowels of the sky._

_The earth was dry and barren and cracked. Wind whistled past her ears and carried faint voices to her._

_A glimmer of fire rose from a great shining crag in the earth. Smoke wafted lazily up from it like the hungry breath of a mortal foe, and anything visible beyond it shimmered and wavered under its heat._

_A whipping mess of dark hair. Ah, Makalaurë. His children were nowhere to be seen and she wilted at the thought._

_Oh! But what are those tears? Makalaurë was crying. No, no he was weeping._

_He lifted his eyes and Nerdanel’s heart was crushed a thousand times over by the pure anguish on his face. His mouth opened in a soundless cry and he reached out a hand with a stumble forwards._

_She turned to what he was facing; to what brought him such pain._

_There was nothing but the great split in the ground and the red light that leaked—_ oh _._

Valar no _._

_Maitimo stepped into the shimmering heat, his remaining hand trembling clutching something made of a glowing radiance to his chest—_

_Nerdanel nearly gasped._ A Silmaril _. Makalaurë had one too._

_Maitimo’s eyes were glazed with pain. Makalaurë cried out again, moving forward as fast as he could._

_Maitimo’s eyes lingered on his brother for a few fond moments, the hint of a smile breaking through his hard mask before he stepped forward—_

_And fell._

_Nerdanel screamed._

_And screamed._

_And screamed._

_Then everything went black._

oOo

Awareness seeped into her with agonizing slowness. The monotone lilt of a conversation wafted lazily about her and she was able to pick up the tail ends of it.

“—healers—unexplained phenomenon.”

“Ever was she close to her family.”

“Too close, perhaps, if it led to this.”

“Nothing good ever came of that family. Their crimes are blatantly obvious. I do not see why a trial is necessary.”

“Ah, ‘tis all just official business. Elbereth herself could not convince pardon to the Fëanárin.”

“I, for one, will have solace to witness them properly convicted.”

“Silence; she wakes.”

Nerdanel cracked her eyes open and took a deep breath to fill her starving lungs. Her throat was raw and intakes raspy.

Mustering as much grace still within her trembling limbs, she swept herself into an upright position on the sofa. She had been carried inside and tended by a healer, it proved; the distinct scent of herbs hung in the air.

“How do you feel, dear?” asked a kindly voice.

She nearly spat in disgust. They speak blasphemy of her family amongst themselves behind her back and then feed her this false acceptance.

Nerdanel did not respond but rose cautiously to her feet. Elves exchanged significant glances though the meaning of them was lost on her.

A _nís_ nudged a _nér_ and several turned expectant glances to him. Now knowing that her legs would support her, Nerdanel strode over to a window as if she were made of air; back straight and head up and crowned with her brilliant russet locks.

“I thank you for your care and beg pardon burdening you with such,” she said tonelessly, hands clasped behind her back and gazing serenely out of the arched opening.

She could hear the rustle of robes as gestures were exchanged behind her but she did not turn around.

A _nér_ cleared his throat.

“Word has come from Taniquentil that the last of the Fëanárin to... arrive at the Halls have come. A trial for their... fate will take place at Airien’s departure on the morrow,” he said formally.

Nerdanel dipped her head in the slightest of nods, though she refused to turn around. _The honeysuckle smells quite nice this time of year, does it not?_

She whirled on them suddenly with a swish of her simple satin dress about her ankles. “I thank you again for your care and hospitality,” she told them. “I will see you all at the trial on the morrow, I assume?”

She raised her brows accusingly after delivering a respectful bow at the waist. They would all be there to see her family be condemned into the maws of the everlasting dark of the Halls and they would rejoice; and they all knew it.

A polite, well-mannered _nís_ would not taken such abrupt leave of her hosts. A princess of noble blood would have been seated beside them and patiently explained her visions and their content and how they plagued her with heartache.

But Nerdanel was neither of those things. She was a Fëanárin. And what could she do now but take pride in it?

She swiftly departed for Formenos. She wished to mould the statue of Makalaurë and his children a bit more before falling to slumber.

The morning would bring much turmoil.

oOoOoOo

Quenya **translations:** (special thanks to a comment, I can consistently use Quenya throughout the story now x.x ;3)

nís... female elf

nér... male elf

Fëanárin... “[people] of Fëanáro” (Not sure here but that’s what I put together from my research)

Character names **translations:**

Maitimo—Maedhros

Makalaurë—Maglor

Tyelko—Tyelkormo—Celegorm

Carinstir—Caranthir

Atarinkë—Curufinwë—Curufin

Ambarussar—both Amrod and Amras


	2. The Trial

**Part 2~ The Trial**

Dreams left her not alone that night, though she was so very lost between the flashes of flame and broken cries that she could not discern the meaning of it.

Dawn was approaching swiftly and there was not time to linger or indulge herself in the world of figures and shapes and symmetrical moulds. Her fingers ached to bury themselves in the stiff moist of the clay and bring to life the faces she could not preserve in flesh.

Giving the sculpted faces of Makalaurë and his two grey-eyed children a last look of longing, she exited the bedchamber, leaving the early light to filter through the billowing curtains and ruffle the mussed sheets of her bed.

Nerdanel burrowed in the depths of her wardrobe, past the plain summer dresses and gowns of flowing veil to a bright piece of scarlet with rippling sleeves cinched at the elbows and a golden and green mottled lace train with a matching belt and the bold embroidery in the style of her house stitched at the hems.

She did up her hair, bunching it into a intricate weave at the back of her head, so that only a few stray locks curled down to her shoulders.

It was not often that Nerdanel would decorate herself in the priceless craftsmanship of Fëanáro’s jewelry, but now she chose the richest pieces of gold; earrings and rings aplenty, with a intricate pendant of the star of her house studded with rubies and the like to hang around her neck.

She was a Fëanárin and was not afraid to show it. She neither saw nor approved of all the deeds done back in _Arda_ , but they were her family—her own flesh and blood—and she would not stand quietly by and see them cast into utter doom; not again—not like last time.

Nerdanel applied a bold, sweeping line of kohl to her eyelids and stepped back to admire her reflection; swathed in scarlet and the Star of Fëanáro resting proudly on her chest.

It was time.

oOo

Nerdanel entered the grand elevated room as the elaborate carved gates ground open before her.

Elves filled the hall on either side of the carpeted walkway like a living, breathing extension of the animated tapestries swinging lightly from towering pillars.

Narrowed eyes watched, some shaking their head. Elves turned to whisper to their neighbors, glaring accusingly or pursing their lips in distaste at the flurry of red that entered.

Nerdanel passed them with hardly a glance of the corner of her eye, not a guard or maid flanking her. Her back was straight and carriage light, head lifted in contradiction over slight pale shoulders, a noble tilt to her chin.

Her eyes were un-flickering and cool and dangerous as the grey of a winter storm; lips pursed and solemn.

Murmurs and slurs rippled around her but she swept them away like water off a duck’s downy.

_Tyelko, dripping murky water all over the ornate rugs and covered in mud from head to foot, holding out a limp water-fowl by the neck and a proud and shining trademark grin stretching his lips wide. Drip, drip, drip. Water sliding off the slick feathers._

Slurs and disapproval sliding off Nerdanel and leaving none-a-blemish to her sweeping scarlet satin.

It took all her willpower to remain stoic, when in truth her body shook at the very sight. Remaining cold suddenly became the most difficult feat she had ever hoped to accomplish as she gazed at the flickering figures kneeling at the Valars’ pedestal.

There were there. Maitimo, Tyelko, Carinstir, Atarinkë, Ambarussar... Fëanáro... but where was Makalaurë?

The spirits of the proclaimed guilty wavered and swam with hints of translucency. Maitimo seemed a bit more solid, probably because he had been last to— _oh, just say it Nerdanel!_ — die.

She kept her head up high, masking the tremble of her chin by wetting her lips as she strode past them to her assigned seat at the front of the room.

Manwë swirled into being at the largest throne at the front of the room, taking a superior elvish form, as did the other Valar present. Námo remained an ominous wraith, cloaked and silent in shifting robes of the darkest greys. If one dared look at his face, they would see the pale white of his chin and thin lips pressed into a solemn line beneath the shadow of his cowl; one felt more than saw his eyes on them.

Nerdanel observed all this through her periphery, gluing her gaze straight ahead and letting the mantra of a million curses to the Silmarils run through racing mind. She approached her seat and folded her legs neatly beneath her so that she faced the front of the room once again.

This time, she could not tear her eyes away from them. Formalities rattled on but she found it a moment of respite to observe what had become of her family.

Ignoring Fëanáro for the time being, she began with the youngest; the Ambarussar.

Their eyes were wide and heads bowed as they ever inched towards each other under the warning growls of the Maiar guarding each of them. She caught their fingers fumbling for each other despite their hands bound individually behind them.

Curufinwë kept his head up though his eyes seemed a bit lost. He often looked to Fëanáro to find an example of how he should act as he usually did. It seemed he found it difficult to straighten and appear taller when he was forced to remain on his knees.

Carinstir was different. His eyes were hard and cold and jaw clenching and unclenching. Ever was he the one to cause an uproar with his temper. She supposed not much had changed about him in that aspect.

Tyelkormo appeared as he always did; nose in the air with a certain smugness about him, though that aura felt more defeated now. She could tell that he ached to look at her, but couldn’t bear to return her gaze.

And Maitimo. Oh, her heart aced for him. Out of all the rest of her children, he looked the most changed physically— the worst, to put it simply. Long, jagged scars dragged across any visible inch of skin. His right hand was flickering dramatically, as if it wasn’t supposed to be there.

He kept his eyes trained on the opposite wall, chest heaving and grey eyes swimming with instability.

She wanted him to look at her but no matter how she willed it, could not communicate to him to lift his head. He looked so utterly lost and confused and drowning with regret and heartache that she doubted he was even aware of what was happening, much less catch on that his mother wanted him to look at her.

And now Fëanáro. Oh, Fëanáro openly stared at her, eyes wide with an unidentifiable glint, which was rather odd. He had always been so transparent to her. She met his eyes and he visibly straightened and lifted his chin a bit more, giving her a gentle smile she had only seen when he held each of his sons for the first time. Despite popular opinion, Fëanáro did have a heart. A soft one, at that. She was one of the few to know it; to have experienced it.

Though his carriage was proud and undaunted, she could sense that it was all a façade. She knew not if Mandos had shown him the swirling images of the suffering of his children, but his heart felt heavier, tainted with a deep sorrow that none but he could see.

A flutter bounced in her middle and she willed herself to look away from him.

She wanted nothing more than to scoop her children in her arms and hold them and comfort them forever.

But she could not. An imaginary growl rumbled in Nerdanel’s throat at the remembrance of it and she let the mantra of curses flow again. She could not, because of Fëanáro.

Then it all came rushing in like a physical blow to her chest as Manwë’s distinctive lilt proclaimed the charges and punishment for the deeds of the Fëanárin.

She would _never_ _again_ see her family. Never again...!

She could not bear it. She found herself shaking her head in denial. They were her backbone—her purpose— and any spark of hope that had been rekindled at the sight of them was quickly doused.

_This is real, Nerdanel! Will you leave them to this fate? To pace behind bars for an eternity like a caged lion gone mad?_

She looked to Fëanáro again.

Even in death, his eyes gleamed. She remembered, at his end, the way he laughed and struck and parried as if he had nothing better to do than gamble with death. Like he had nothing to lose.

But he did. He had their children— _her_ children he had led onto this precarious path. It could only lead to utter darkness and he should at least be there to lead them through all; to catch them when they stumble and dust off their clothes and kiss the scraped knees to banish the worst of the pain away. And yet there he went and threw himself away.

She caught Fëanáro straining to peer at Maitimo. She was sure he had seen what had become of him in a fevered dream or as a punishment of some sort, but he looked uncharacteristically stricken. Perhaps reality had crashed down on his head as well. He had not even been there to see his eldest out of the darkest time of his life.

And now Makalaurë was alone in the vast of Arda. Perhaps his sons were there to comfort him.

Nerdanel surveyed the familiar faces in a line, bound and kneeling with guards at their flanks.

They looked so very anxious and terrified, all in their own ways. From the way the Ambarussar gravitated towards each other and clung of their respective strength, to the way Carinstir flinched ever-so-slightly at each condemning word.

Her mind was set. She would not standby to regret it all once again. She was Nerdanel, daughter of the great smith Mahtan, wife of Fëanáro and lady of his House. She would not permit this eternal doom, whatever the consequences to her may be.

She brought the drone of the procedure to the forefront of her attention, awaiting those certain words with a newfound finalization detected in the set of her jaw and the additional glimmer of her fëa.

“—hereby condemn the Fëanárin to the Doom they set upon themselves as they fled these shores at the dawn of the Age. The—“

“No.”

Murmurs immediately burst from amongst the throng, the shuffling of heads turning interrupting the heavy silence. Manwë cast Námo the barest of glances. The Vala’s gaze shifted and settled on Nerdanel.

“Pardon?” Manwë said.

“No,” Nerdanel said in a louder, firmer voice that ricocheted in the high ceiling to bring her point across in the manner of the scarlet fierceness of her House. She stared straight ahead, rising rigidly from her seat to be made known. Additional hisses accompanied her conspiracy.

“Do you plead the Fëanárin guiltless, Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan the smith?” Varda’s rolling voice rang out, questioning.

“I plead mercy upon the House of Fëanáro.” Nerdanel remained strong and firm despite the imposing presence pressing upon her with the power of such numerous, high beings.

Manwë looked to Námo once again.

“Speak, daughter of Mahtan,” Mandos’ deep timber commanded. The air suddenly seemed heavier, darker under the Vala’s scrutiny.

“The deeds of these people may be unfit for the splendor to be indulged in Aman, and yet do you seek to rebuke them so harshly with a punishment that rivals that of Morgoth himself?” She marveled at the way her voice stayed steady when she swam with such intense emotion. In the sea that drowned her. She took a deep breath, rekindling the vast brilliance of her _fëa_. She had fire too.

“I do not see the justice in this. Bringing it down to the start, we are all equally of the Eldar. Would you condemn beings of light to an everlasting dark? Are their hearts truly so evil?”

Námo remained unresponsive while Manwë had shifted. Unbidden wisps of cloud were swirling about him in a sluggish, thoughtful manner. Varda lifted her chin in expectancy or impression, Nerdanel could not tell which.

A few more beats of silence passed.

Nerdanel held her breath.

Fëanáro had looked up sharply at her intervention; the others looked on with the barest slivers of hope. Maitimo seemed to better grasp at what was happening and stared to his mother with wonder tainted by the fear that still gripped him.

“What would you stake as compensation for an amendment to the punishment of Doom proclaimed on the Fëanárin?” Námo said suddenly.

Nerdanel swallowed thickly, choking down the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her now into that chaotic, tossing sea.

“I would stake my honor—“ she paused for keep her voice from cracking, “—and I would stake my life.”

Another wave of whispers swept through the crowd but she did not care.

A heavy weight had lifted off her chest though everything inside her was twisted in a stifling anxiousness. She had done everything she could.

More silence. The tension thickened until one could almost hear it snapping and crackling in the very air.

“I motion to waive the full impact of the Doom of the Fëanárin,” Varda proclaimed.

Breath rushed out of Nerdanel as if her lungs had been compressed.

“Not for an eternity shall the Fëanárin remain in the keeping of Mandos, but as long as sees fit,” Manwë finalized. “Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan will remain in Aman.”

Nerdanel could feel the weight of Mandos’ gaze on her back once again, though it seemed a tad warmer. Perhaps a bit of approval tucked away in that swirling mass of cold glowers.

She bowed at the waist and was seated once again, a haughty quirk to her mouth.

Relief swept over her like a tide. Her _fëa_ blazed radically around her. It seemed her fire had evaporated that cursed black sea that tormented her; stole her breath and strength and passion.

She met Fëanáro’s eyes. His mouth held the same quirk though she could detect a violent shimmer rimming his eyes. That sight alone touched her heart and it was all she could to to not run forward and never let go of him and his fire and strength.

The Ambarussar stared at her with such loving adoration it made her chest flip over and over and arms ache to hold and kiss them.

Atarinkë looked triumphant, though he held himself in a humbled way, unlike Fëanor.

Carinstir’s hard mask had melted like molten gold. He scrabbled to draw it back up but it was like grasping water. He continuously wet his lips, staring at a spot on the tile at his knees.

Tyelkormo looked plainly relieved. He gazed at her with much of the Ambarussar’s admiration and thanks and she could only marvel at his charming smile and burn it to memory.

Maitimo had his head down, angled in a way so that only Nerdanel could see his face. His eyes were wide and fixed to the floor and he trembled slightly. Her breath caught as silver tears rolled down his scar-mottled cheeks.

Had Nerdanel not been sitting, her legs would have carried her to their side on their own accord.

All she wanted was to hold them...

Hold her babies...

Her heart would ache until they were with her again...

She wondered how long it would be and her insides suddenly churned at the thought of them leaving her again.

_At least it’s not eternity..._

Manwë gestured for the Maiar guards to lead the Fëanoriannath to their dark niche in the Halls.

And then he was gone in a swirling burst of cloud and light and Elbereth with him. Námo ghosted in the corner and watched down the length of his nose as the House of Fëanáro were brought to their feet and led away.

Fëanáro suddenly stopped and turned to Nerdanel, the glint of fire dancing in his eyes as he gave her dazzling smile complete with a flash of his teeth. She found herself smiling back before he was pushed forward.

Tears like diamonds rolled silently down her cheeks but she brushed them away mindlessly as if she remained unaffected.

They disappeared behind the door with a flicker of translucency as they were degraded to spirits once again.

Nerdanel stood, trying to ignore the gaping hole in her chest as they were taken from her once again. She wished with all her heart that she could at least talk to them; find out the people they had become. It struck a painful chord in her heart that she hardly even knew her sons.

_At least it’s not eternity..._

Nerdanel held her head high, no longer tense and stiff and struggling to keep herself contained and composed but free and flowing, tossing haughty flashes of her teeth over her shoulder as she strode past glowering elves. She let her _fëa_ out in a blaze of brilliance and and twirled out of the hall with a flair of her scarlet sleeves and golden train, absently touching the pendant at her heart.

She was Nerdanel if the House of Fëanáro and would live so until they could be together again.

Now, all she could to was hope and surround herself with familiar faces—even if they were clay or marble, they were comforting nonetheless— and hang onto the ghost of Fëanáro’s fire that had touched her then.

Perhaps she would have more visions of Makalaurë and his children.

_At least it’s not eternity..._

oOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments would be much appreciated ;).
> 
> If you enjoyed this, I recommend taking a peek at ‘Pattern’ which follows Maedhros into the Halls that fill him with dreaded memory (angst ensues).

**Author's Note:**

> The second and last part is on its way :).
> 
> ... kómmëntz? Plēas? XD. Constructive criticism would be great too, thanks :)


End file.
